


The Bluest Christmas

by ChristocentricQueer



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Aziraphale Is Trying (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Catharsis, Character of Faith, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Homophobia, Hopeful Ending, Loss, Minor Character Death, No beta we fall like Crowley, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pastor Aziraphale, Pregnant Aziraphale (Good Omens), Queerphobia, Religious Content, Trans Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trans Crowley (Good Omens), Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28399866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristocentricQueer/pseuds/ChristocentricQueer
Summary: "It was the worst holiday season of his 35 years of life. But as a pastor, he had to grin and bear it. Aziraphale couldn’t admit how much pain he was in. He didn’t want his congregation to worry about him. Dote on him. Think he couldn’t handle his emotions. Aziraphale was an adult, thank you very much. He had coping skills. He had his beloved Crowley. He enjoyed writing. He was happily pregnant, eager to meet their bundle of joy. He had his strong faith in God. But bloody hell it was fucking hard. So, so fucking hard to keep it together. And without Crowley home with him, he felt lonelier than he ever had in his entire life. It was no exaggeration. "A human AU where Aziraphale is the new pastor of a church during the COVID pandemic. It is the hardest holiday season of his life. Based on my own life experiences and feelings. It has a hopeful ending.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	The Bluest Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This is a cathartic fic. If you, dear reader, want to know a bit about who I am, how I'm feeling, and what this year has been like for me, then this is a fic worth reading. It is from Aziraphale's POV, as I connect with him the most. This is the worst holiday season of my life, and I need to express my grief and pain. I am physically alone, have no friends where I live now (can't really make 'em due to COVID), and I am not partnered. As a pastor and from my life history, it is very, very difficult for me to be vulnerable and express my feelings verbally. The written word is the only way I am able to communicate what is on my heart and mind. 
> 
> Thinking of everyone else out there who is experiencing a Blue Christmas. This shit sucks.

Aziraphale closed his laptop for the evening. He let out a deep sigh and made his way to the couch. It was a cream-colored couch with red and white flowers, a gift from one of his congregants.[1] Aziraphale adored it. It was the best couch they’d ever owned. Though, if you asked Crowley, she’d grimace and say it should’ve been black. Oh how Aziraphale loved and missed her physical presence! But she had to quarantine herself elsewhere for a while. They couldn’t risk Aziraphale coming down with COVID too.

It was 7:30 p.m. on Christmas Eve. His eyes hurt almost as much as his heart did. Aziraphale was conducting worship services solely on Zoom now.[2] The pandemic raged on. COVID rates were spiking all around him. Aziraphale’s thoughts were often consumed with fear for his congregants, many of whom were older adults, medical professionals, or they had immunodeficiencies. He didn’t know them as well as he’d like yet: he’d only been there 4 ½ months, and the pandemic prevented him from spending time in their physical presence. Crowley’s description of his situation was right: it was an ugly, nasty, unwashed load of bullocks. But there was nothing Aziraphale could do except try his best. And try his best he did. Crowley always reminded him of that. But he could never find it in himself to believe it.

Aziraphale reflected on the past month as he sunk into the couch. December was filled with so much. Right from the start, Crowley was diagnosed with COVID. She went to work at the Tadfield Zoo—she was a herpetologist—and they were doing regular screenings of people’s temperatures. She didn’t feel sick, but her temperature was on the higher end. They wouldn’t let her into work and sent her directly to a testing site. Crowley called Aziraphale after the test, and they agreed that she couldn’t come home. She went to a decent motel that had weekly rates. The results came back after two days, and it was positive. The fever, chills, and cough set in not long after. Fortunately, the fever did not last long, and only the cough was an issue. Aziraphale went and got tested as well, and fortunately he was COVID negative. He went several times to be sure.

They had little doubt that it was Hastur who transmitted the virus to Crowley. He refused to wear a mask, believed it was a government hoax, and went to bars that defied the state’s rules. Hastur was in the hospital now, had been for about two weeks now. Aziraphale couldn’t find it in him to feel sorry for Hastur. Crowley openly said she hoped Hastur would suffer permanent damage because of his carelessness. She’d prefer it if he died and she’d dance on his grave, she said with a wicked snarl. Aziraphale argued with Crowley about what she said, but it was half-hearted at best; Aziraphale was just as angry but buried it. He had to focus on caring for his flock.

He put his hand on his large belly and felt Raphaella kick. Aziraphale wished it could make him smile, bring him at least a moment of joy. But it couldn’t. Nothing could. The parsonage wasn’t a home without Crowley. Aziraphale needed his girlfriend, and Raphaella needed their mommy. They couldn’t say it, but Aziraphale felt it. He was sure Raphaella missed the chaotic, mischievous, yet loving and thoughtful, energy Crowley brought to their lives. They missed her as much as Aziraphale did.

Aziraphale’s mind drifted to thoughts of his congregation. He tried his best to keep a smile on his face, pretend everything was tickety-boo. Aziraphale wrote a holiday card for every single person in the church directory. He called, texted, or emailed (depending on the person’s job and what information he had) every single person before Christmas Eve. It didn’t feel like enough. It felt like a pathetic attempt to make his congregation feel loved. It was hours and hours of a labor of love. But Aziraphale couldn’t see that he’d done the best he could. Didn’t believe it would ever be enough to show how much he cared. _He_ wasn’t enough. He held three services the week of Christmas Eve: the regular Sunday morning service, Blue Christmas service Sunday evening[3], and, of course, the Christmas Eve service. He wrote a prayerful reflection on Christmas Eve to give hope to his congregation.[4] He wasn’t feeling hopeful himself, and he hated this holiday season, if he were being honest with himself. This year, Aziraphale was honest. Sadly, he couldn’t even bring himself to talk to Crowley about his feelings. Though he knew Crowley had her suspicions. She always knew, could read him like a book. The only book she ever really cared for.

It was the worst holiday season of his 35 years of life. But as a pastor, he had to grin and bear it. Aziraphale couldn’t admit how much pain he was in. He didn’t want his congregation to worry about him. Dote on him. Think he couldn’t handle his emotions. Aziraphale was an adult, thank you very much. He had coping skills. He had his beloved Crowley. He enjoyed writing. He was happily pregnant, eager to meet their bundle of joy. He had his strong faith in God. But bloody hell it was fucking hard. So, so fucking hard to keep it together. And without Crowley home with him, he felt lonelier than he ever had in his entire life. It was no exaggeration.

He looked to his left and saw the Christmas wreath hanging on their bedroom door. He always sat in front of it whenever he Zoomed (that spot had the best lighting in the house—one congregant said he looked like an angel with a halo). He looked to his right and saw the little three feet tall Christmas tree he’d bought from their local big box store. Crowley wasn’t with him to pick it out, and the thought of it broke his heart a little. The tree was decorated red, silver, and pink, and had some little stuffed animals underneath. He’d plugged it in for some semblance of cheer. Both the wreath and symbols were to create a false belief to others that he had the energy to be festive. But secretly, Aziraphale only hung them up because he didn’t want anyone to think he’d off himself.[5] Holiday cheer, right? Flash that pretty smile of his, putting folks at ease. But Aziraphale’s smile, as Crowley would say, was faker than Clerk Gabriel’s kindness. She wasn’t wrong. The truth hurt.

***

His phone vibrated. He let out a shaky sigh. Aziraphale was on the verge of tears, about to fall apart. He couldn’t bear the thought of Crowley knowing. But he looked at his texts anyway; he didn’t want Crowley to worry.

_C-How did the service go, angel? Thought of you the whole time. Know that the Someone awful Christmas music was real hard on you tonight. Can we video chat? Need to see you._

Aziraphale began to cry in earnest. Crowley should be here, goddammit. She should be snuggling with him on the couch, talking and laughing about all the tech issues they had. He responded.

_A-Dear girl, the very thought of you seeing what I look like at the moment is unbearable. I’m terribly sorry. Can we simply talk on the phone instead?_

Aziraphale’s phone began to ring. He picked it up immediately. He may not have wanted Crowley to see his face, but he desperately needed to hear her voice.

C-“Don’t run from me, dove. Talk to me, please.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and tried his best to stop his tears. It was too much to be that vulnerable. Not tonight. Crowley was right—the music had triggered a deep grief he was feeling that holiday season.[6]

A-“Crowley…The blasted Christmas music was _awful_! I don’t mean…Don’t mean the pianist. He is a delight and gifted beyond measure.”

C-“Azi I know. ‘ve heard him before during your services…This isn’t about that. It’s about her, I know it is.”

The dam broke. Aziraphale couldn’t hold it back any longer. He was wracked with sobs, unable to speak for quite some time. Crowley said nothing, simply listened. He could hear her breathing, calm and steady, in an attempt to soothe him if only a little. Eventually, a half hour later, he was composed enough to speak.

A-“Y-you’re right, Crowley. I miss Madame Tracy terribly. She loved Christmas so very much. It was her favorite. Remember when I took you to the little Christmas village not far from the seminary?”

Crowley let out a soft chuckle. “Oh angel, how could I forget? Gotta admit listening to her was fun last December.”

A-“That was the last time she sang there. She sang there every year, every single weekend from November to December. So many tips, and she always sold so many of her CD’s and tapes. I still remember how she lit up when we arrived…But then…Then…”

C-“I hear ya, angel. Bullocks what happened, that.”

A-“Then March when the pandemic began…Dear girl, I don’t even know if we’ll ever be able to hold a funeral or memorial service…When it does happen, who knows if we will be able to fly back, all the way across the country?”

C-“Can’t think about that now, angel. Just stay with me. Don’t go there, not now.”

Aziraphale went silent. His mind flooded with the memories of her failing health and death. The reason that her singing came to an end was because the next day, she went to the hospital. She passed out from a coughing fit, and she was rushed to the hospital. Madame Tracy had been looking rough for months, pale and losing weight. Her cough was getting worse. But she refused to go to the hospital. She was far too busy being the mother hen, taking care of anyone and everyone. They found out she had lung cancer, and it had metastasized. Treatment would buy her a little time, but not much. But she pretended it was fine, and one of the doctors at the hospital gave her better odds than she really had. Crowley and Aziraphale had a long talk over dinner the evening after they visited Madame Tracy in the hospital. Neither of them were optimistic. They entered into early grieving that night. They had no way of knowing when the hourglass’ sand would run out, but they knew that it would not be long.

When the pandemic began and things were shut down, Madame Tracy and her spouse, Shadwell, hunkered down in their apartment. Aziraphale and Crowley offered to do their grocery shopping. It was hard for Madame Tracy to accept their help even though she was very sick. They knew it may very well be the last time they’d see her alive. When they got as many groceries as they could and brought them to her, she was deeply touched. Sadly, Aziraphale and Crowley were right; it was the last time they ever saw her.

They received a call from another friend, Anathema, a week later. It was four in the afternoon, and they were making a cheap frozen pizza. Aziraphale had just finished a long paper that he’d dreaded writing. She let them know that Madame Tracy died on her way out to the mailbox. She dropped dead, didn’t feel any pain. Aziraphale was relieved she did not suffer, but it hit him like a ton of bricks, as it did Crowley. That evening, Crowley took Aziraphale on a drive to clear their minds. She only went 10 miles over the speed limit, a rarity for her. They went to Madame Tracy’s favorite ice cream shop, a regional chain that boasted the best milkshakes. Crowley and Aziraphale got her favorite flavor and drank them in her honor.

There was no funeral, nothing at all. The pandemic, the fear, all the unknowns, prevented anything from being planned. There was still nothing all these months later. Aziraphale felt the heavy weight of not having any closure. No sharing in his grief with all the people who loved Madame Tracy. No talk of her after she’d died. Nothing at all.[7]

Crowley stayed on the phone with Aziraphale and said soothing words of love until he drifted off to sleep.

***

Aziraphale woke up in the middle of the night, feeling stiff and sore. He knew better than to pass out on the couch. But Crowley’s voice lulled him to sleep. Calmed his mind enough to get a few hours of sleep. He hadn’t slept much these past few weeks. Nightmares and insomnia plagued him. The pangs of loneliness kept him awake. He’d cry himself to “sleep” nearly every night. Even if he slept a full eight hours, Aziraphale was exhausted. His mind simply wouldn’t shut off. Aziraphale prayed that the stress of it all wouldn’t affect their baby. So far his appointments had gone well despite it all, however, so Aziraphale took that as an answered prayer.

He slowly got up and made his way to their bedroom. He could smell Crowley’s spicy perfume and took a deep breath. Aziraphale had sprayed it in the room every day so he could pretend she was around. It didn’t help much at all. Aziraphale changed into his sleep clothes and climbed into Crowley’s side of the bed. He nestled his head in her pillow; it still smelled like her, thank heavens.

Aziraphale laid there for hours. It was Christmas Day now, bugger it all. No presents were waiting for Crowley to open—Aziraphale was too depressed to bother with it. He’d get something when she returned. Maybe. Probably not. She’d understand.

He turned on the lamp and stared at the wall.[8] Aziraphale stared at the picture hanging there. The photograph triggered his memories from March through December. It was a picture of the Meetinghouse[9] that he’d served as Assistant Pastor in his last year of seminary. It was a lovely photo of the Meetinghouse on a snowy Sunday morning. He loved Tadfield Friends Meeting. It had been his spiritual home from early 2017 until he moved away to become sole pastor of his own church in August 2020. He served as Assistant Pastor from September 2019 to the first week of May 2020. They were some of the happiest days of his life. He preached once a month, focused on pastoral care, and learned about church administration.

He smiled for a moment when he thought of Raphael[10], his pastor and mentor. Raphael was truly an angel. They were a strong, kind, and thoughtful person. Aziraphale couldn’t help but look at Raphael as if they hung the very stars (platonically, of course). His love and admiration for his pastor, mentor, and friend was without bounds. Their personalities were quite different—Raphael was a bubbly, boisterous pastor with a loud, unique laugh. That laugh filled the room. They were as extroverted as a person could be. And at the same time, they were very in touch with feelings and loved listening and holding space for anyone who needed to feel loved. Aziraphale missed them terribly. Raphael was sweet enough to send Aziraphale his favorite chocolates, cookies, and a card expressing how much they loved and cared for him. Aziraphale kept every one of Raphael’s cards.[11] He knew he could reach out to Raphael, tell them how much pain he was in. But he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the phone.

Those happy moments changed so much with the pandemic. They stopped having Meeting for Worship at the Meetinghouse. Aziraphale and Raphael had to record their sermons. With Crowley’s help and encouragement, Aziraphale even started a recorded prayerful reflection for Tadfield Friends twice a week. It was an extemporaneous thing, seldom planned. He taught, he told stories sometimes. He even did one in Madame Tracy’s memory. People really enjoyed them, and it helped Aziraphale feel useful. Raphael and Crowley both always said how proud they were of Aziraphale.

But Aziraphale grieved tremendously those last few months. He missed his congregants terribly. His last two seminary classes were held solely on Zoom. It was a nightmare for Aziraphale. Crowley had to teach him how to use it. He often turned his camera off so his classmates could not see how sad he was[12]. It also prevented his classmates from seeing him being held and snuggled by Crowley throughout the three-hour class period. Without her touch, Aziraphale didn’t know how he would’ve stayed focused.

Aziraphale was devastated when graduation day came. There was no Hooding Ceremony, no walking across the stage and receiving the M.Div that he’d worked for four years to receive. Far longer than most master’s programs, that’s for sure. There was no baccalaureate dinner and worship service. He didn’t get to walk hand in hand with Crowley into the banquet room, show off her beautiful red dress she’d bought for the occasion months ago. Everything was held online. Aziraphale made the difficult choice not to attend the graduation or baccalaureate services. It caused him too much emotional pain to see what would never be. Online was a piss poor substitute for the real thing, Crowley said. Some of Aziraphale’s classmates were angry with him for refusing to attend…And the majority were disappointed and saddened by it.[13] Crowley and Aziraphale “celebrated” quietly at home instead. Mostly it was Crowley soothing him as he bawled his eyes out.

Aziraphale’s internship ended with nothing at all. He received some very sweet cards, which he kept. But there was no cake, no little party to celebrate his service as Assistant Pastor. It went down like a lead balloon. There was no closure except for a heartfelt “goodbye” video from Aziraphale to the congregation. It gave closure to the congregation, but not for Aziraphale.

It wasn’t long before Aziraphale applied for a pastorate all the way across the country. Raphael helped him with his cover letter and resume, and they had fun during the process. Aziraphale’s denomination—Religious Society of Friends (Quakers)—did not “assign” folks to a region or a congregation. The job search was done on one’s own or with other Friends telling him about a job lead. That’s how he’d found out about Soho Friends Meeting. It was exactly what Aziraphale was looking for and was a great fit. Medium sized town, small congregation, and progressive. To be honest, Aziraphale’s options in his denomination were quite limited, and he was fortunate to find a Meeting that would even give him an interview. The majority of Meetings did not accept queer people, especially ones as flamboyant and out as Aziraphale. They had a hard enough time with gay people; they’d never accept a transgender man as pastor and his transgender girlfriend.[14] It was clear to most that Crowley was trans, though she couldn’t care less. Aziraphale didn’t either, of course. And he would not hide who he or who Crowley was to comfort a congregation. He was out from the get-go in his interview with Soho Friends Meeting. They chose him to be their pastor in June.

Crowley and Aziraphale packed up their life of four years and said goodbye to Tadfield. Some friends stood at a distance and waved goodbye as they drove away—Anathema, Newt, Shadwell, and Raphael. Surprisingly enough, Crowley’s boss Beez came to say goodbye as well. As much as they hated Crowley in a way, they were going to miss her herpetological skills at the Tadfield Zoo. No one could calm a snake like Crowley could. They drove for several days until they reached their destination. Aziraphale and Crowley loved the drive there, even the stressful moments. They talked, bantered, and argued for hours. And it was on that drive that they found out they were expecting.[15] Both Aziraphale and Crowley were overjoyed. They’d always wanted children. It was the highlight of the entire trip.

The first month and a half of his pastorate went without a hitch. They were holding worship outdoors when the weather was nice, so Aziraphale got to meet some folks. He started calling folks from the directory and scheduling visits. They were all very kind, and it was clear that the kindness was sincere and real. It still was clear to Aziraphale, nearly five months into his ministry. He loved them the moment he saw them. When worship had to move to Zoom, people were quite understanding. It has been hard for all of them, but Aziraphale’s experience at Tadfield Friends prepared him. And whenever he was anxious and had doubts, Crowley was there to love on him and give him a pep talk. Crowley would deny that she was kind and nice—actually, she was really only kind and nice to Aziraphale and children—but Aziraphale would tell her she was anyway. She’d blush and blow a raspberry at him. She seldom was on camera, but Crowley supported Aziraphale from the comfort of their couch or the dining room chair across from him. Though from time to time the congregation would ask to see Crowley’s beautiful face, and she’d humor them and say hello.

It was halfway through September to the end of October when Aziraphale had a painful experience of transphobia.[16] A middle-aged man named Sandalphon hated him from the get-go. He did not accept LGBTQ+ people. He believed it was wrong. Even though the church decided years prior that it was an open and affirming congregation, Sandalphon stuck around. During the hiring process, Sandalphon did not speak once, Aziraphale was told. Sandalphon never voiced his objections to Aziraphale becoming the pastor. In their denominational context, Sandalphon had many opportunities to express his feelings. The congregation came to unity in hiring Aziraphale over Michael. Sandalphon could have voiced his objections, beliefs that Aziraphale was not the right candidate. But he didn’t say a word.

In September, the Meeting decided that they would put up a Pride flag on the building to make sure folks knew the church truly was accepting and safe. Sandalphon could have said how he felt, but again, he said nothing. Rather, Sandalphon left a nasty letter on Aziraphale’s office door. He wrote that Aziraphale would teach the congregation to be “good little Christians” and would “tickle their ears with everything they wanted to hear.” He accused Aziraphale of ruining the church, pushing out straight people, and making it an LGBTQ+ church. He wrote that they should call the church “Aziraphale’s House” or “Captain Fell’s Ship.” He ended his letter asking Aziraphale if he was brave enough to carry out his task of making the church queer.

Aziraphale immediately called Crowley to tell him what happened. She was up at the church in a heartbeat (fortunately it was her day off from the Tadfield Zoo). Crowley held Aziraphale’s hand as he called the Elders of the church and read the letter to them. They met the next day to try and figure out what to do. Nothing like that had ever happened at the Meeting before. The Elders consulted with other Elders in other congregations for help. Aziraphale had to keep quiet about it until they figured out what to do. He would never hurt a congregant and would never disclose such information to anyone other than the Elders. He did not wish to isolate or ostracize Sandalphon. He had hope that they could work things out.

The Elders told Sandalphon that he was to have no direct contact with Aziraphale until things were resolved. They asked to meet with Sandalphon to talk about what happened, but he refused. He didn’t communicate with Aziraphale for about a month, just as he was asked. Sandalphon talked to another congregant about the hateful letter he sent Aziraphale. The congregant who found out about the letter sent an email to the whole congregation, saying that the pastor was being harassed and questioned because he was LGBTQ+. The congregant did not reveal who it was, and the whole church flew into an anxious frenzy. Everyone agreed that it went against the congregation’s values and that Aziraphale needed to be treated better. The Elders told the congregation that a special meeting would be held to discuss it.

To calm and soothe the congregation, Aziraphale wrote a long, heartfelt letter to the congregation, telling them that together they would figure this out and that some good fruits would come. They would do more education about queer issues and identities so the congregation could learn and grow as allies. The letter made Sandalphon angry, and he wrote another nasty letter to Aziraphale and left it on his office door, even though he was explicitly told to leave Aziraphale alone. Sandalphon compared himself to the prophet Daniel but flipped the story. He said that this time, “the lions were winning” (the “lions” being Aziraphale). He wrote that Aziraphale had “courage” and that there was hope for “Captain Fell’s Ship after all!” It hurt Aziraphale deeply to be told he was ripping someone apart as a lion would do. All Aziraphale ever did was be the person God made him to be. Crowley held him that night as he cried himself to sleep. When Aziraphale was asleep, Crowley found the church directory, drove to Sandalphon’s house in the middle of the night and shit on his porch. There was nothing else she could do, but she was quite proud of herself.

Aziraphale was not in attendance at the special meeting. It was his choice, and it was for the best. Aziraphale urged the Elders to tell the truth, because he found out that congregants were speculating about who did it. Aziraphale never revealed it to the congregation; he kept his silence. As church folks talked, a few wondered if it was Uriel, who once struggled with LGBTQ+ people and her Christian faith. But years ago, she realized that it wasn’t a sin at all and had changed completely. Aziraphale could not bear her reputation being ruined when she was innocent. The Elders agreed, and it was revealed who it was and what happened. The congregation doubled down on their belief that queer people are fully loved, welcomed, and affirmed at Soho Friends Meeting. The Elders changed the church locks so Sandalphon could no longer enter the building without someone to let him in. Sandalphon left and never apologized, never repented. He said that God told him to do what he did to “save the church.” As much as it hurt Aziraphale, he encouraged the congregation to show Sandalphon love and mercy.[17] Crowley felt the complete opposite and made that very clear to Aziraphale. She could always see and feel the things that Aziraphale never allowed himself to feel. It was one of the many things Aziraphale loved about her.

He didn’t take any breaks after it happened. It brought back many painful memories for Aziraphale and he felt very lonely. He hadn’t made any friends in Soho yet because of the pandemic. He couldn’t join a book club, go to the library and meet other book enthusiasts, become a regular at a bakery or coffee shop[18]…Occasionally he would call Raphael, tell them about how he was doing and ask for advice. But other than Crowley, Aziraphale really had no one he trusted. He didn’t want to burden Crowley with the brunt of all his pain and suffering, and he didn’t dare share his real feelings with the church. They were not there to care for him, and it was his role to hold space for them, not the other way around. Aziraphale had to be strong. Brave. Almost bullet proof, in a way. He couldn’t let on how deeply hurt he was for the cruel treatment he received. It was only one person, but what did it matter? It reminded Aziraphale of all the people who hated him for being trans and bisexual. All the churches and people who would never love him or see him as a child of God. All the people in the United States who believed the world would be better off if he was dead.

To cope, Aziraphale took to writing creative fiction. It helped him get his feelings out. Aziraphale would write about his life through the eyes of Shakespeare’s characters, though he never shared his work with anyone. He knew there were sites he could post his fanfiction, but Aziraphale hesitated and doubted anyone would read it. But maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t have felt so sad and alone if he put himself out there. But being vulnerable wasn’t something Aziraphale liked to do. He’d been hurt too many times. Grew up in a family where if he shared his feelings he’d be beaten mercilessly and screamed at. He’d been alone then, in a way. But Aziraphale had friends to help him get through. Now he had no one in his physical vicinity to show him love and care. Except, of course, his beloved.

Yet again, Aziraphale started to cry. He felt beyond alone. He felt as if he was in space, where no one could hear his screams of emotional agony. Aziraphale felt the empty space next to him in bed. His Crowley should be there, caressing his belly. Kissing his neck, making fun of him for this and that. She should have been there, reciting portions of Song of Songs that made Aziraphale blush. But she couldn’t be. She was stuck in a shitty motel, hiding herself away until she got negative test results several times. It probably wouldn’t be until after New Years that Crowley came home. The thought made Aziraphale’s heart ache.

“Fuck Christmas!” Aziraphale cried out. He sobbed himself back to sleep.

***

Aziraphale spent most of Christmas Day in bed, holding the teddy bear with the tartan bowtie Crowley got him for Valentine’s Day. He ignored his phone, even though it kept vibrating and ringing. He knew it was Crowley. He knew he needed to answer, if only to assure Crowley that Raphaella was just fine. It wasn’t until 3 p.m. that Aziraphale finally had the strength to answer the phone. Crowley was initiating a video call. Aziraphale couldn’t hang up. He had to show her his pain.

When Aziraphale saw Crowley’s face, she looked a mess. It was clear she’d been crying too, and her eyes were wide with panic. Aziraphale felt guilty and ashamed that he’d made Crowley feel so afraid. It wasn’t fair to her.

“I-I’m sorry Crowley, please forgive me. I’m just so…So…”

Crowley sighed and looked at him with empathy. “Sad. I know. Me too. Miss you, angel. Miss you and Raphaella so fucking much. Was worried something happened to you both…Please talk to me, dove. Tell me why you wouldn’t answer.”

Aziraphale’s eyes welled with tears. “Crowley, I hate when you see me like this…I’m so broken without you here. Please do not think me dramatic, dear girl, but this is the worst Christmas of my life. I don’t want you to worry about me, though. I just…Just feel my heart breaking when you see me in such despair.”

Crowley paused for a long moment. It felt like hours to Aziraphale as he waited for his girlfriend to speak. But when she did, a look of inspiration crossed her handsome face. “Dove, remember the story you told me when you came back from that retreat last September in Chicago? When you were in waiting worship[19] outside during your lunch break?”[20]

Aziraphale took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He felt the wind in tussling his hair again. He always associated the wind with God’s voice and touch. Some of Aziraphale’s most powerful spiritual experiences were when he was outside, surrounded by the whoosh of wind. Aziraphale remembered sitting at a picnic table in a lovely little garden. People were talking around him, but he couldn’t hear them. All that mattered to Aziraphale was the feeling of God all around him, wrapping Themself around him. He heard Them speak.

Crowley waited for a few minutes to give Aziraphale time to immerse himself in the memory before she spoke again. Softly and gently, she asked, “Angel, I want to hear you say it. What did you hear God tell you?”

The tears began to fall from Aziraphale’s eyes. He tried to choke it back, hide it from the love of his life. The desire to retreat, hide away from her loving, strong gaze was great. He wanted to flee, end their video chat, and bury himself in blankets. But he couldn’t. She always knew how to draw him out. Crowley was the one who made him feel safe. He knew she would never judge him. She never saw him as unworthy or unlovable because he felt everything so deeply. And most of all, Crowley always reminded him of the special moments he’d had with God. Even though Crowley was not sure about her own feelings about God—though she did believe in Someone or Something—Crowley could speak the language he needed. It never scared her. And he knew Crowley always respected him and truly heard every word he said.

“They told me I was resilient,” Aziraphale whispered.

He grabbed a tissue and wiped his eyes, blew his nose. He looked into Crowley’s golden eyes. Aziraphale couldn’t help but focus on the beauty of her colobomas. They looked like a lock in a door. He remembered the moment she said that she loved him. Told him that his bright blue eyes were the keys to her locks. A smile formed on his face at the memory and the way it bled into his experience with God.

“Now tell me, what’s your word, dove?” Crowley continued.

Aziraphale took a took breath and exhaled before he said it. “Resilience.”

“That’s your word. That’s who you are, Aziraphale. Your resilience…All the shit you’ve been through. We’ve been through this year. Fuck. A goddamn pandemic, finishing the hardest schooling of your entire bloody life, your trust that we’d be okay out here, ‘cross this mess of a country. All you’re doing to connect with your sheep, all you do for me ‘cause you love me, Someone knows why.

Not to mention the fact that you’re carrying our li’l one. You know how fucking proud Raphaella’s gonna be when they learn all you’ve overcome? How you stood your ground with Sandalphon, not letting him ruin this ministry for you was bloody resilience at its finest.

Soon as I’m better I’m comin’ home. You won’t be alone for long, I know it. Dove, ‘s the worst holiday of my life too. Hate being alone in this dump without you. It’s bullocks that we’ve gotta talk like this. I’m not gonna talk you out of the tears, promise,” Crowley was shedding tears too, and seemed not the least bit ashamed of it. Aziraphale’s tears fell again at the sight of hers.

Crowley refused to wipe her eyes. Pretend the tears weren’t there. She didn’t give a flying fuck. It was beautiful. Perfect. And Aziraphale felt okay crying too.

She pressed on. “I love you more’n anyone. Love you all the time. I give all the fucks for you. Unconditional. I agree, ‘bout this being the shittiest holiday we’ve ever been through. Worst Christmas ever, yeah. Bloody terrible being apart, you not being able to be with your sheep. Fuck. We don’t have friends yet. Someday we will, who the Someone knows how long. But angel, I think this is gonna be the worst one we ever go through. You’re the definition of resilience, angel. We’re resilient together, you ‘n me. We’re on our own side. This Christmas is blue as anything. But please, please, remember what God said. Hold on ‘til I get home. As soon as I walk through that door I’ll rock you to sleep like I always do.”

“Resilience. Resilient together,” Aziraphale responded through his tears.

He was thankful he had someone to feel this with. Who acknowledged how goddamn blue this holiday season was. But Crowley was right, God was right. Aziraphale would get through this agonizing holiday season, as he did every other awful thing in his life. It was only a moment. He would have Crowley in his arms again. He would feel her hand on his pregnant belly as she felt the kicking of the culmination of their love. The pandemic would end. They’d make friends one day. His congregation would continue to be filled with people he loved and cared for; he did, after all, sincerely love each and every one of them. One day they would gather. They would get to know each other in the flesh.

Aziraphale knew in the depths of his soul that they would get through. And this painful, cruel winter would come to an end. Aziraphale didn’t know when, couldn’t know when. It’s all ineffable, after all. No rhyme or reason. So for now, Aziraphale would have to hang onto the phrase God blessed him with:

Resilience. Resilience. Resilience.

[1] A congregant gave me a sleeper sofa that looks like this. It’s my favorite piece of furniture and it’s super comfy.

[2] This is how I am conducting worship services right now to protect my congregation and myself. I really wish I could be with my congregants in our sanctuary, but I do not regret my decision.

[3] Blue Christmas is a service—usually held on the Winter Solstice—where people can express their grief, pain, and loss during the holidays. It is a way to balance out the expectations of joy and happiness the holidays bring.

[4] These are all things I did for my congregation this December. I hope someday to read this, look back on this, and feel good about what I did.

[5] This is precisely why I put up holiday decorations. They have actually made me smile though and I’m really glad I did. So that was an unexpected bonus, quite frankly.

[6] I actually hate Christmas music of all kinds on a good year. I’ve never liked it, no real reason. But this year, it triggered a tremendous amount of grief and anger within me. Now I wonder if it will always be a trigger of pain for me.

[7] Madame Tracy and Aziraphale’s feelings and experiences are mine. One of my closest friends died in March from a health condition (not what Tracy had). But the singing in a village, her time in the hospital, Crowley and Aziraphale’s tough talk about knowing she’d die, the groceries, her death, Crowley and Aziraphale making a frozen pizza and driving to an ice cream shop…Those are all real. Those are my experiences with my dear friend. We have not had a funeral for him. No service, no sitting in silence and waiting for the memories to come (a Quaker tradition)…Nothing at all. I talk with his spouse about how much we miss him sometimes. But other than that, I am forced to hold this grief and pain with no closure. Goodness gracious do I miss the ever loving heavens out of him.

[8] This next portion details my life from March through December. Of course there are embellishments, and I do not have a Crowley. So I suppose if you wish to know me, reading this will give you a glimpse into my life and feelings.

[9] Meetinghouse is the term Quakers use for Church. Some Friends (another name for Quakers) use the terms interchangeably. Others find the term “church” offensive. I am a Friends pastor who uses the terms interchangeably.

[10] Raphael is based on my mentor/pastor/friend, D, and his husband BF (who is one of my best friends). He has my personality, as Aziraphale is more like my friends than I am. D and I made a brilliant team as Pastor and Assistant Pastor. That man is one of the best men I’ve ever met in my life. And his husband, BF, is one of the best friends I’ve ever had. They were two of the hardest people to say goodbye to when I moved across the country.

[11] D and BF do things like this for me. BF checks in on me a lot. They are truly Christ-like men. Wish y’all could meet them because they are truly angels in my life. I don’t know where I would be without them. I sincerely mean that.

[12] Funny story. I would turn my camera off because I couldn’t sit still. Sometimes I would get up, watch the birds and groundhogs hangin’ out in my yard, read the news, text my friends…Twice I fell asleep xD.

[13] I did not attend my virtual baccalaureate worship service and graduate. I do not regret my choice. Classmates and a prof or two tried to pressure me into attending. I can be a very stubborn person, and it only made me feel more strongly about my decision. What hurt the most is that my family could not come and meet my friends and the people I love so much. I will always grieve the loss of not having my special day.

[14] There are several branches of Quakers. I belong to Programmed Friends (we have pastors). Many people know Unprogrammed Friends (these are the Meetings that sit in silence for a full hour and do not have pastors). Programmed Friends began during the Revivals in the 1800s. Many of them are more conservative. It is true that very few Quaker Meetings would accept me as their pastor.

[15] I am not pregnant at the time of writing this fic. I have never been pregnant. Though I hope someday I will be.

[16] This is a true story, though some elements are changed. My congregation is awesome and we worked together and handled it well. I feel confident in my congregation’s ability to not only handle difficult things, but also their commitment to me as their transgender, bisexual pastor. These folks are fantastic. I am proud of them. Y’all would love them.

[17] I really hope someday “Sandalphon” comes around and has an experience like “Uriel” did. I want him to grow and love as God loves. I pray for him. I am sad that this happened. I never wanted this for him. But he made his choices.

[18] This is me right now. I am unable to make friends and enjoy quality time with people because of the pandemic. I know we are all in this situation in some way. But as an extrovert who moved thousands of miles away from home, experienced many changes, am grieving so many things…I am lonelier than I ever have been in my entire life.

[19] Waiting Worship is a Quaker practice. This is where we sit in silence and listen for the Holy Spirit/God/Divine to speak to us. We believe that everyone has access to the voice of God, and They speak to us directly. When we are gathered with others during Waiting Worship, we may hear the voice of God through another person’s vocal ministry. Vocal ministry is where a person speaks the message that God puts on their hearts. It is our spiritual understanding of what Holy Communion is. Waiting Worship is when we feast on the “living bread” as Christ is alive as the Holy Spirit. We do not practice outward sacraments, only inward ones such as this.

[20] The story that Crowley is referring to (which you will read in detail) is a true experience I had with God. Remembering it as I wrote this was powerful. I am thankful that God gave me the energy to write this today, and that God reminded me of what They told me that September afternoon.


End file.
